Threshold
by CoolnRainy
Summary: This is a story in three parts based on my three favourite Season 3 episodes: "Smoked", "Funhouse" and "Rebound." What's Cal trying to achieve by antagonising Gill? And when will it be enough for him? Last part up...
1. Somewhere Swanky

**A/N: ** All right, so this is a story in three parts based on my three favourite Season 3 episodes: "Smoked", "Funhouse" and "Rebound." Once again, I wrote very closely around the episodes and the existing dialogue, but then I changed/added stuff to better the outcome (in my totally humble opinion). I'll be posting the other two parts over the next couple of days. Please read, and I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Lie to Me characters, concepts and episodes do not belong to me, nor does any dialogue lifted directly from the episodes (which I concede is a lot).

**Part 1: Somewhere Swanky**

Torres stopped and hovered uncertainly in the corridor for a moment. This was going to be tricky ... How was she supposed to convincingly lie to Foster about Lightman wanting to buy them lunch? She doubted it was possible, and cringed at the thought of the situation she was about to have to step into. Trust Lightman to make her do the actual lying, she thought irritably to herself. He was just sending her in there to embarrass herself.

For a moment, she considered simply coming clean to Foster right away. Tell her what Lightman was doing with Wallowski, and that he didn't want her to know. But that was tricky, too. It was tough, being loyal to both of them. Of her two bosses, however, she felt far more threatened by Lightman (because he was far less rational), and she supposed she should at least make an effort in case he asked Foster what she'd said.

So, planting a wide and enthusiastic grin on her face, she headed over to Foster's office and knocked before entering with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Gillian glanced up from her desk just long enough to see that it was Torres and to give her a smile, before returning her attention to whatever it was she was reading.

"Hey, guess what," said Torres, in what she hoped sounded like a delighted and surprised voice, "Lightman wants to treat you and me to lunch!"

Gillian's head snapped up at once, and her eyes bored into Torres's.

"What?"

"Yeah," said Torres, suppressing a nervous swallow. "He says we deserve it, and look, he gave us his credit card!" She held it up, and attempted to keep grinning cheerfully.

There was a pause.

"Why's he trying to get rid of me?" Foster asked calmly, her eyes never leaving Torres's.

"What do you mean?" said Torres, deliberately slowly, and tried to rearrange her face into a convincing expression of innocent confusion. She needn't have bothered. Foster was no fool, especially when it came to Lightman. And now she was narrowing her eyes suspiciously at her.

"Who's he trying to hide from me?" asked Gillian more pointedly.

"He's not," said Torres, still trying to sound puzzled. "I mean, nobody. He's just ... He thinks we could use ..."

Foster sat back in her seat, her arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and continued to stare at her, and Torres gave up. Really, it had been a pointless mission. Foster was second only to Lightman in her field. So, she merely looked sheepishly at her shoes.

"So, who is it, then?" asked Foster again, a flicker of annoyance passing over her face.

Torres bit her lip, stumped as to what to say. As it turned out, she needn't have bothered worrying about that either.

"It's Wallowski, isn't it?" came Foster's slightly resigned voice, and Torres knew that she had confirmed it without saying a word.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled uncomfortably, looking up at Foster again, feeling as though she'd participated in some kind of betrayal. She and Foster had, after all, begun to develop their own kind of friendship, and she was extremely fond of her kind-hearted, strong and cheery boss.

Foster eyed her for a second before sighing, rolling her eyes and standing up.

"Let's go, then," she said.

Torres, who had fully expected her to storm out, locate Lightman and yell at him, looked at her in genuine surprise this time.

"Where?" she asked uncertainly.

"To lunch," said Gillian, reaching for her purse.

"Seriously?"

"If he thinks he can get away with lying to me by buying me lunch, I'm going to make sure he regrets it," said Foster firmly, her eyes twinkling. "Don't forget his credit card."

Torres grinned as Foster passed her on the way to the door.

"Alright!" she said enthusiastically. "Where're we going?"

X X X

Cal strode into the Lightman Group, and was relieved to spot Gillian sitting in the waiting area. He'd decided he did need to involve her in this after all.

"Aye aye," he said lightly. "Don't clock out just yet, all right?"

She got to her feet and walked towards him.

"I wasn't going anywhere. I was waiting for you," she told him, falling into step beside him. "And Wallowski," she added pointedly.

_Damn._

"Don't think that lunch with Torres fooled me."

He supposed it had been a long shot. He doubted even he would have been able to sell that one convincingly.

And judging by the look on her face when he glanced over at her, and the fact that she had gone to lunch despite knowing what he was up to, he was sure she had exacted her revenge. He imagined his credit card had taken quite a hit. He felt a strange, paradoxical rush of affection for her at that moment, so he slipped his arm around her waist, and asked teasingly, "Where'd you go, then? Somewhere swanky?"

Her arm went around his waist, too, and she ignored the question, which was really a confirmation as far as he was concerned.

"Why do you feel it's necessary to hide her from me?" she asked instead, placing a hand on his abdomen.

Distracted by that brief contact, he deflected with, "How do you know that I'm not hiding you from her?"

Gillian rolled her eyes.

"I'm so glad I waited for you," she said sarcastically, letting go of him as they reached his office.

Cal sighed, and said resignedly, "You don't like her, do you?", and wondered why it bothered him.

"I don't know her, thanks to you," snapped Gillian, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

"Well, look," Cal began, moving behind his desk, "I had to lie for her to you when she was being investigated. I don't want to have to do that again." And he meant that. That had been a very unhappy situation for him, and for her.

"You keep trying to protect me. How sweet." Gillian's voice was unimpressed, as though she found him patronising.

Slightly annoyed, because she had missed his point completely, Cal retorted, "Oh, so, you're okay with her, then."

"I didn't say that," Gillian said quickly, before adding fairly, "Yet."

He now wondered why the "yet" bothered him.

Deciding to negate it, and in the process take his own revenge for her hand on his stomach, Cal said with emphasis, and in a very suggestive voice, "You know, she's good. I mean, you know, she's _very_ good." He paused there to gauge her reaction, but all he saw was indulgent exasperation, so he merely clarified in a normal voice, "At what she does."

"I wouldn't know," Gillian pointed out.

He flopped down into his desk chair, swung his feet onto his desk, and grinned at her. She was watching him expectantly. Deciding that, on the whole, Gillian in the loop was far better than Gillian out of the loop, and that he obviously owed her one, he suddenly swung his legs back down and leapt to his feet, saying, "Right. Dinner's on me." He strode back past her. "It's a threesome."

Ignoring this, Gillian followed him, and teased, "You'll have to use another card. This one was denied." She was holding up half a credit card as they made it to the door.

Unsurprised, Cal merely said, "Oh, yeah? What you been up to?"

"Here's the other half," she added, bringing it out of her pocket, and grinning.

"Nice shoes," he said, not minding in the slightest. He hadn't had much left on that card anyway. Besides, he figured, now they were even.

And, in spite of himself, he was finding it as funny as she was. Well, almost.

X X X

Cal left work in a bad mood. It had been a particularly upsetting situation, watching a man find out that his best friend had had his daughter murdered. For a business. It was sickening.

Convincing him had been no picnic, either, and Cal wasn't surprised. He wondered how he'd react if someone tried to tell him that Gillian had killed Emily. He shook his head at the absurdity of the thought, deciding he'd probably sock them one in the nose. He wondered if the old man had ever, even for a second, seen it coming. If he'd ever seen this horrifying potential in his best friend.

He moved on to wondering if Foster ever saw the horrifying potential in himself. Then he dismissed the thought, because of course she did, but that changed nothing because their friendship was different. Different in that she knew exactly the extent of his (vast) bad side as well as his good, and put up with him anyway. Loved him, even. He told himself firmly that there was nothing she could discover about him that she couldn't stand. Besides, he sure as hell would never have her daughter murdered, meaning his potential wasn't all that horrifying after all. Feeling slightly consoled by that thought, he let himself into his house, and tried to come up with something to write about in his book that evening.

X X X

"Dad?"

He was only half listening as he stared at his typewriter.

"Yeah?"

"Is "Shazzer" short for Sharon where you come from?"

He looked up at Emily's far too innocent face, and felt wary.

"Where I come from?" he asked, stalling. "What, you mean England?"

"I thought we were Australian."

Her sarcasm was barely detectable.

"Look, d'you mind?" he said irritably. "I'm trying to concentrate here."

Ignoring him, Emily asked, "Well, I mean, is she your new ... You know?" She was watching him intently.

"Look, leave it out, all right?" he said, feeling strangely under attack. "I don't have a new ... You Know."

"Meaning she is your new You Know."

"Meaning nothing of the sort," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. "I don't have one of those. You Knows." He waved his hand dismissively.

Suddenly, she spoke more seriously, quiet concern in her voice.

"Don't you think you should get a new girlfriend?"

Longing for the conversation to end, he pointed at the typewriter and retorted, "Look, this is my new girlfriend right now, you know, thanks to you. At least until I've brought this bloody book out. So, d'you mind?" There was a pause, and then he heard an unmistakeably familiar sound.

"Are you playing poker on my account?" he demanded, getting up, and heading for where she had been sitting with his laptop. "It's eighteen and over." He peered at the screen with interest, and said, "Oh, look, you're ahead. How'd you do that?"

"Luck. And you should quit while you're ahead," she replied, before returning to the topic at hand. "So, does Gillian approve of Shazzer?"

Trying to control himself over this particularly sensitive subject, he said, "With a passion. Yeah. Totally."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"What?"

When she didn't look away, he relented, "All right, well, maybe not completely totally, but, you know, she'll come around."

"You hope!" said Emily in a tone that clearly implied that "Shazzer" wouldn't survive for long in his life if Gillian _didn't_ come around. He found it annoying that it was true. "Back to work," she added bossily.

Cal snatched up the laptop, much to Emily's indignation, and stalked back to his typewriter. It wasn't long, however, before he'd lost focus, and found himself scowling at the wall.

The conversation with Emily had been more disturbing to him than he would have expected. After all, Wallowski wasn't his new You Know. But even if she _was_, which she wasn't, she wasn't exactly the kind of You Know he would want Emily to be a part of. She was more a teasing, fun, dangerous You Know. A rush, for sure, but not serious. He wondered what would happen if he and Wallowski ever did become actual You Knows. Would he be expected to tell Emily? It was hardly as though the thought of starting something with Wallowski hadn't crossed his mind - it crossed it all the time, and he made sure she knew it. But after his conversation with Emily, the thought suddenly seemed somewhat less appealing.

He'd certainly had his share of flings since his divorce, but not a You Know. Not the sort Emily was talking about. Not the sort she thought he should maybe be getting. It had, after all, been almost four years since Zoe. Perhaps she was right? Perhaps he should be thinking about getting an actual girlfriend? And that immediately set him thinking about Gillian. Because he had long since known that if he ever wanted to be in another real long-term relationship, it would be with her. If, of course, she'd have him.

He sighed. He supposed that was also what Emily had been alluding to earlier, when she had asked what Gillian thought of Wallowski. The possibility that Gillian Foster might be jealous of Wallowski, consciously or not, was tantalisingly appealing. It was why he liked to push her, as well as stop them from getting to know each other. Any kind of friendship between them would cancel out the mystery of his relationship with Wallowski. Which was, he knew, the main reason for Gillian's obvious discomfort. And he thrived on that discomfort. It gave him a hope of reading something from her.

Unfortunately, it wasn't proof enough of romantic interest. But it was a factor in favour of the possibility. Damn her for being his blind spot. He just couldn't _know_. He needed her to slip. To confirm. He found himself smirking as he remembered the moment in the lab where Foster had glared Wallowski from the room. That had been possibly one of the most arousing things he had ever seen her do. Which was saying something.

He sighed, and shook his head. These thoughts weren't bloody healthy.

Now was not the time.

x x x

Gillian cursed slightly under her breath as she dropped her car keys. She was clutching a box of folders in her arms, while holding her laptop bag and briefcase in one hand. It had taken some maneuvering to balance all these things in her right arm, slightly against the car, as her left hand had fumbled with her keys. And then dropped them.

She hovered uncertainly for a moment, considering the best way to go about picking them up, and then came to the inevitable conclusion that she'd have to put down everything she was carrying. How annoying.

She was just about to ease everything to the ground when a voice said, "Here, I've got them."

Wallowski was crouching down in front of her, picking up the keys. She stood, holding them uncertainly, before saying, "Would you like me to unlock it for you?"

For a moment, Gillian fought the irrational, "No, thank you very much," that was dying to come out, and succeeded. Instead, she managed to say politely, "Yeah, thanks."

She rebalanced herself to step away from the car, still managing to hold everything as Wallowski unlocked the trunk, opened it, and reached to take the box from Gillian. Together, they managed to load it all into the car without dropping anything, and Gillian slammed the trunk closed.

"Thanks," she said again, and even managed a small smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just stopping by to drop off the notes on the arrest and stuff," shrugged Wallowski.

Gillian eyed her curiously. "It's after eight," she pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I was driving past on my way home, and figured this way I wouldn't have to come tomorrow."

Gillian looked at her face, and suddenly smiled in amusement. And slight embarrassment.

"You wanted to avoid me," she said.

It wasn't a question, and Wallowski didn't bother to pretend it wasn't true. She merely said, "Didn't know you were such a workaholic."

"Well, someone has to be," observed Gillian, rolling her eyes, and she saw Wallowski grin. And then, to her annoyance, she felt an odd sense of camaraderie and as though she could, perhaps, like this woman. Cal would never stop gloating if he found out.

She had been going to say goodnight. To say thanks, see you round, have a good evening ... But something on Wallowski's face stopped her and instead, she found herself saying, "You wanna grab that cup of coffee now?"

Wallowski's smile softened, and she murmured, "Sure."

x x x

They sat in the small coffee shop, silently sipping their respective beverages - plain black coffee for Wallowski and a mocha latté for Gillian.

"It's so weird," said Wallowski suddenly. "Who kills their best friend's daughter?"

Gillian frowned slightly at the haunted expression on Wallowski's face, and then just shook her head, at a loss for words. It was not something she could even come close to grasping.

"I never would have seen it coming ..." Wallowski mumbled, and Gillian saw guilt.

"I doubt anyone would've," she said softly. "It's so ludicrous. So very cruel -" and she stuttered to a stop. It was enough to make anyone doubt the world they lived in, but she knew Wallowski had known the family personally. She must feel greatly betrayed.

"Lightman saw it," Wallowski said vaguely, and a moment later she suddenly looked afraid, as though she was unsure of whether they could discuss Cal.

Gillian gave a soft smile, ignored the odd wringing feeling in her stomach, and pointed out, "Not immediately. Anyway, he's special. It's his expertise, to see things others can't."

"It's yours, too. Did you see it?" Wallowski's voice was desperate, so Gillian decided to be honest.

"No, I didn't."

Wallowski let out a small breath, and mumbled, "Well, I guess if you didn't, how could I be expected to?"

Gillian watched her curiously. Wallowski was trying to complement her, trying to be nice. Gillian wondered why. After all, she had never treated Wallowski particularly well. She suddenly felt bad about it. After all, it had never been entirely personal. Wallowski had never done anything to hurt her. She had just always felt that Wallowski was trouble, and it was her job to take care of Cal and the Group. Wallowski had started off as a threat to Cal's and the Group's reputation, and only after that had she become a threat to Gillian and Cal's friendship. And that was Cal's doing, not hers. Cal had almost seemed to force Wallowski between them.

Suddenly Wallowski was speaking again, saying quietly, "Thanks for this. I know you're not my biggest fan ... I just don't have anyone else to talk to."

She gave Gillian an open grateful smile, which broke the last of her animosity.

"I'm sorry about that," she said sincerely. "I was just worried about him. About Cal."

"No, I get it," said Wallowski at once. "You were protecting him, or trying to. He'd be screwed without you, you know."

Gillian smiled sadly, and said, "You think so, huh?"

"Completely," insisted Wallowski. "And he knows it."

Gillian suddenly felt a bit too exposed, and so in a blatant change of subject said kindly, "You can talk to me whenever you need to."

"Thanks, I'll remember that." After a pause, she added, "You don't need to protect him from me. I promise."

Gillian bit her lip. Logically, she knew that it was probably Wallowski who would be dragged into trouble by Cal, but her protective instincts didn't always pay attention to logic. Plus, there was the effect Wallowski had had on their friendship. There was no denying the resentment she felt towards this new part of Cal's life that she wasn't allowed to be a part of. Even though she hated feeling this way. She was just used to being allowed into all facets of his life. This alienation was new.

Wallowski was watching her expectantly. Gillian decided to go with a succinct, "I know." But she avoided eye contact, and instead eyed her diminished drink. After another pause, she looked back up at Wallowski and gave her a friendly smile.

Wallowski looked for a moment as though she was going to say something, but she seemed to change her mind. Curious, Gillian noted an almost tender expression whisk across her features, and it hit her. The similarity of that face to Cal's. Strong, hard, completely blank, and when the odd sincere emotion leaked out, it was always personal and surprising.

"You're like him," she whispered, almost to herself.

Wallowski shrugged, and said, "Yeah, I guess. A bit." There was another pause as she seemed to come to a decision, and she said quickly, but firmly, "It's why I understand what you mean to him. I don't know much about your friendship, but believe me, you're his rock."

Gillian was looking at her with interest again. In truth, she already knew this. But to see Wallowski insisting on it was oddly touching. Wallowski obviously had no intention of coming between them, and, even more importantly, she didn't seem to consider it a possibility, let alone an option. Gillian frowned then, because if that was the nature of Wallowski and Cal's friendship, why did he insist on keeping her in the dark?

"If you'll forgive my asking," she began, unable to stop herself, "are you sleeping with him?"

An odd, almost amused look flickered across Wallowski's face, and she shook her head.

This didn't help clear anything up, although the small wave of relief did happen, leaving Gillian feeling annoyed with herself. She sighed, and decided to let it go for now. Maybe she would find out. Maybe Cal still intended to make his move on Wallowski. Or maybe he was just having some kind of mid life crisis.

"Okay. I couldn't help wondering," she said, feeling a little ashamed of herself for asking.

"No big deal," said Wallowski with a shrug.

They both gulped the last of their drinks down, and smiled. Gillian pulled out some money, and when Wallowski reached for her own wallet, Gillian said insistently, "No, it's on me."

Wallowski hesitated, but then smiled and said gratefully, "Thanks."

They walked outside companionably, and turned to face each other where their cars were parked.

"I'm sure I'll see you soon," said Gillian. "But until then, look after yourself, okay? And remember, if you need to talk ..."

Wallowski nodded, and smiled, "Yeah. Thanks. You take care, too ... Gillian."

"Goodnight, Sharon," replied Gillian, and turned to her car, smiling in spite of herself.

x x x

**A/N: **Apologies to all Wallowski haters out there, but seriously, she's not so bad … It was the role she played as the source of conflict that sucked, but I thought her character was kinda cool. Which is why I wanted to change the part I didn't like. Anyway, I hope you like it in spite of that. Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think.


	2. You Can Do Anything You Set Your Mind To

**Disclaimer: **Lie to Me characters, concepts and episodes do not belong to me, nor does any dialogue lifted directly from the episodes (which I concede is a lot).

**Part 2: You Can Do Anything You Set Your Mind To**

"You had _coffee_?" Cal demanded, as he burst into her office.

She looked up from her computer, feeling puzzled.

"What?" she asked.

"You and Wallowski."

"Oh, right," she said in realization. It had been over two weeks since the coffee in question.

"What, you two friends now?"

She frowned at him. She would have expected him to be immensely smug if he ever found out about it, but instead he looked utterly ill at ease.

"I wouldn't say that," she told him. "We just had coffee."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, barely restrained annoyance in his voice.

She had to hold back bitter laughter at that question. He was such a hypocrite sometimes. Instead, she said with some irritation, "I just didn't want to. Besides it wasn't such a big deal."

"I thought you didn't like her," Cal pointed out.

Gillian stared at him, and felt sudden amusement at his discomfort.

"Why is this bothering you?" she asked. "I thought you wanted me to like her."

Cal stared at her, hovered uncertainly on the spot, and then gave a curt nod before striding out of her office again. She watched him go, perplexed. Then she sighed, and shook her head. The man was a mystery to her lately, although she had been feeling much calmer towards him since the coffee. It had been oddly reassuring to get to know Wallowski, and gain some insight into her and Cal's relationship. The conversation had made her feel far less threatened, and it had allowed her to understand somewhat what Cal saw in Wallowski. He recognized himself in her. And since Cal was Gillian's best friend, it wasn't surprising, really, that she would also wind up liking that side of her.

It suddenly occurred to her that that was probably why Cal had been disturbed by her not liking Wallowski. It was almost a direct criticism to him because of their similarities. Almost as though she was saying she didn't like him. How ridiculous. And yet now, he seemed genuinely upset about their having coffee together. Nut job.

She hadn't seen Wallowski since then, but at least she was no longer half afraid of her turning up. She could accept her now. And she and Cal were safe.

x x x

Cal was feeling perturbed. Wallowski had let slip about the coffee when he had called her to ask for some background information on a suspect, and he had almost dropped his jaw through the floor in shock.

"When?" he'd demanded.

"A couple of weeks back. After the Weaver case." There had been a pause as he'd struggled to find his voice. Then she'd added, "I assumed you knew."

Figuring he would have assumed the same thing, he'd let it go with a dismissive, "Fine."

There was a silence from her side, and then she'd asked, "Why is that a problem?"

"It's not," he'd snapped, irritated.

"You don't want me to get along with Foster?" she'd asked him, and he read a bit too much perception in her voice.

Deciding this conversation had to end now, he'd simply said childishly "Do what you like, I'm not your bloody mother, am I?," before hanging up over her sarcastic "Right", and storming off to confront Gillian. She had been annoyingly nonchalant about the whole thing, and had eyed him as though he had lost his mind.

Not that that was outside the realm of possibility. But, really, how was he supposed to feel about these two women in his life striking up a friendship? He had no idea how to approach it. Zoe and Gillian had never really liked each other, and he was used to that. On the other hand, the situation was different. After all, he wasn't actually involved with Wallowski, and at this point, he was very much consciously in love with Gillian. Although much of the time he wished he wasn't.

He felt conflicted. He knew it had bothered him when Gillian _didn't_ like Wallowski for some reason, but this was far worse.

He decided to leave. The building had sprung up Christmas decorations everywhere over the weekend, which was just another reminder, not only of the bloody holiday season, but of that cursed day that came around year after year to remind him of the life that was ticking away from him. Not that his home was any better (Emily had spent the weekend covering every surface with decorations), but he wanted to be away from Gillian for the moment. He needed groceries anyway.

In the car, he fumed for a bit. Gillian was already more relaxed about Wallowski. He had seen it. Obviously this meant less teasing and provocation. Unless he actually started sleeping with Wallowski. He considered that for a bit, but decided that that was possibly the most infantile solution he could have come up with. Besides, the unsettling truth was that he simply didn't want to sleep with her anymore. Not really.

He just needed to know how Gillian felt about him. Know if he could go there with her. The not knowing was working on his nerves, along with the tension of knowing that this was his window. The window that had suddenly swung wide open with her divorce, had unexpectedly slammed shut for a while with Burnsey, and it was now open again. Now was the time, and he just needed to push her a bit further to confirm before he did anything. It was how he functioned. He pushed people until they forgot to hide their emotions. He needed her to slip. He had been working on it for months. Every now and then, it almost seemed she had, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't conclusive. And now he'd lost his most useful weapon.

It was on the drive home from the grocery store that he suddenly realized what he was doing. He was openly accepting the need for a relationship. With Gillian. Damn Emily and her influence on him.

Grumpily, he opened the door to his house, and was greeted with The Jam blasting at top volume. Feeling aggressive anyway, he slowly advanced into his home to lash out at the perpetrator. He was surprised when it wasn't Emily, but he yelled anyway.

"Loud enough for you?"

x x x

As it happened, the case of Wayne Dobar turned out to be just the distraction he needed. He recruited Gillian as soon as he got back from the loony bin the following morning, and explained the situation to her while setting a mouse trap. He, of course, had every intention of relying on her for this one, as she was more of an expert on this sort of thing.

Plus, it was important. Important to Amanda, to Emily ... To him. And he knew she would understand why this mattered so much. He needed her with the important cases. With the personal cases.

She proved as helpful and willing as he would have expected and, in spite of himself, he enjoyed having her close again. He enjoyed the return to their easy intimacy that came with the dissipation of the threat of Wallowski. There were more smiles, more touches, more connections. And luckily he was too intrigued by the case to allow that familiarity to disturb his feelings too much. He was still tossing up on what it was he wanted to do about her, and this proved a welcome method of putting off the decision.

Gillian's mere presence had allowed for both Wayne and Amanda to open up to them, he knew. Those kind, reassuring eyes of hers were enough to convince them to trust that Cal Lightman was there to help. On his own, he was sure they never would have believed it. But with Gillian there ... If she trusted him, they could trust him. Cal could see it. See it in how they would glance at her uncertainly, and then seem to take comfort in her gentle encouraging smile.

He knew that smile. It won him over all the time. It was the reason she, and only she, knew everything about him. She was one hundred percent trustworthy, and it didn't take a deception expert to see it.

x x x

Cal lay on the couch in his office, the coffee table laden with research, and the ceiling above him zoning in and out of focus, tilting this way and that. He blinked, and there were stars all over the place.

Suddenly he became aware that Gillian had come in, and was talking about Wayne's letters. He tried to focus on what she was saying, but it made his foggy head hurt, so he covered his eyes with his hand and groaned.

He heard Gillian stop talking, and then ask in surprise, "What's wrong?"

He put his hand down, and looked at her. "Nothing, I'm just knackered, you know?" he told her sleepily, before saying what he had been wanting to tell her for the last hour or so. "It's like he's on posh drugs. You know, the sort that shrinks for rich and famous people give their customers to keep them around, you know?"

"Or Wayne's really not well, Cal," she pointed out as he stood up and reached for his coat. He pointed at her in a faint acknowledgement of her point, but she was frowning, and saying, "Cal? Please tell me you're not thinking about going to grill Dr Grandon now."

In fact, he had been thinking about doing just that, but upon standing, it occurred to him that he'd much prefer his bed right now. So he said truthfully, "No, I'm not. It's late. I'm tired. And there's nothing we can do now, right?"

He walked, or floated, towards the doorway as she said, "We have to figure out a way to handle this carefully."

"Oh, you think I can't do that, don't you?" he asked vaguely, having drawn level with her.

"You can do anything you set your mind to," she told him teasingly, but didn't try to hide her warm sincerity.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, grinning in a way that said, _"Including you?"_ and realised he had in fact moved in to kiss her, having suddenly felt the desire.

"Oh, yeah," she confirmed, smiling in amusement and moving back slightly out of his way.

Her movement stopped him, and he felt faintly hurt, although she was smiling affectionately at him, and he supposed she hadn't been taking him seriously. Come to it, he didn't know if she should have been. He wasn't even sure why he hadn't controlled the impulse.

Then the thought of her having coffee with Wallowski hit him. He needed to push her on his own now, and in this moment, kissing her seemed like the perfect answer. So he kept moving forward, placed his lips firmly on hers, and kissed her. Kissed her actively, with intent and no hesitation. It felt amazing. It was an almost intense warmth and comfort, like sinking into a hot bath after being out in snow. He kissed harder, wanting more of the surreal heat. Suddenly he felt her push him back, albeit gently, as she eased her lips from his. She looked puzzled, and insecure.

"Cal?"

He blinked hard, some of his senses returning to him. He couldn't quite believe what he had just gone and done, and all he could really feel was the sensation of his stomach curling in on itself, as though it was trying to make itself as small as possible, and the tingling flush of heat washing over him.

Foggily, it occurred to him that he had messed up somehow (the details were a bit too complex right now), and he went for the easiest solution, which was a snarky comment in the form of, "Apparently not, then." He gave her a cheeky grin, and she rolled her eyes, visibly relaxing a little.

"Get some sleep," she remonstrated, shaking her head at him. He wished his brain was working better. He couldn't figure out what it was he was seeing as he looked at her face. It was a flash of something familiar, but his mind was too sluggish to catch it.

"All right," he said, still smiling blearily at her, briefly touched her very red jacket (it was so very _red_), and then turned to leave, waving vaguely at her over his shoulder. He couldn't understand what had just come over him. He couldn't have been in his right mind.

In a completely non-sequitur thought, he decided that maybe he would pop by Dr Grandon now after all.

x x x

Gillian watched him leave, and then flopped down on his couch feeling disconcerted. It was still warm from his body. The kiss had been extremely unexpected. Not the first moment where he had swept into her personal space. He did that all the time, his eyes challenging and roguish. What had shocked her was the follow through. And how very suggestive it had been. How very heated.

She had pushed him away out of shock more than anything, her heart pounding, her cheeks flushed, feeling that rush of nervous excitement in her chest. And fear. It had taken a moment of staring at his dazed expression before he had plastered a grin on his face and merely confirmed it was all part of his joke. Part of the cocky, provocative humour that was so Cal Lightman. And she had felt exasperated. Honestly, this was pushing it. But he didn't seem quite himself, and she thought maybe he was just fatigued or something. That the last of his very small ability to respect social boundaries had lost its energy. He needed a good night's sleep. And then things would be normal again.

It was almost a relief that that was all it was. Any other possibility was too much to think about right now, she told herself. So, she took a deep breath, and began to peruse the research scattered over his coffee table.

She was just leaving about an hour later when she got the call from Dr Grandon. The call that informed her that Cal had shown up at the hospital in a very strange way, head butted an orderly and then collapsed. At this moment, he appeared unstable, and was talking to himself.

She shot over there as fast as she could, and was met by Dr Grandon at the door.

"Where is he?" she demanded at once.

"You may want to see this," Dr Grandon informed her, and led her to the security room. He sat her in front of the monitor, and she watched Cal pace around, looking confused and then cheery, and then sad. He muttered nonsense to himself, and then became very thoughtful and quiet. He sat and rocked in the corner for a bit, and then stood and stared out the window. Gillian couldn't tear her eyes away from him. He looked completely out of it. Lost.

She was about to ask what the hell was going on, when Cal's quiet voice came clearly through the speaker, murmuring, "Hello, Mum."

She froze and stared. Stared as he embraced thin air. Stared as he sat on the bed, discussing a holiday, looking through his curled fingers as though through binoculars. Stared as he teased nothingness with affection. Suddenly aware of Dr Grandon behind her, she said distractedly, "I admit Dr Lightman may be a little unusual, but this is ..." She stared hard at Cal, who was acting very unlike her Cal, and felt afraid. "What did you give him?" she demanded suddenly, looking around, and then back at the screen searchingly. Looking for reassurance.

"He broke an orderly's nose. We gave him a sedative."

She continued to stare at the screen. This did not look like the work of a sedative.

"Just to be clear," Dr Grandon's voice said, moving closer, "the law says -"

"You either have to file a police report or hold him for forty eight hours if there's any evidence he's a danger to himself or others," she recited, turning to eye him suspiciously. "I know."

He merely nodded at her, before saying, "He was like this when he arrived. We didn't give him anything."

She chose not to answer, and turned back to Cal. He was talking softly to his mother, asking questions about why she had killed herself, why she hadn't left his father, wishing she could meet Emily. She could see the pain, the guilt, the vulnerability he was feeling. She saw the fear, and wished she could go to him and hold him. The whole exchange on his side was beautiful, and heart wrenching. It had been a long time since she had seen him like this, a long time since they had delved into his feelings about his mother's suicide back in their therapy sessions. She knew all the issues, and it hurt her to know how much they were still hurting him.

She hoped his vision had reassured him somewhat. There were moments when she saw a calmness cross his features, as though he was suddenly free of the darkness. Maybe she had told him it wasn't his fault. Gillian had been trying to tell him that for years, so it was possible his subconscious had picked up on it, and was helping him now. She prayed it was true.

She only became aware that Dr Grandon was no longer with her when she saw him on the monitor entering Cal's room. Furious at his interruption, she cursed under her breath, and watched as they made Cal take something else. She wished she knew where his room was.

Shortly afterwards, Dr Grandon returned, and said, "That should allow him to sleep."

"I want to see him," she said, standing up.

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Of course it's possible," she retorted. "I'm his best friend."

Dr Grandon shrugged, and said, "There's no point now anyway, he'll be very deeply asleep. But come and see him tomorrow morning. Morning visiting hours are between ten and twelve."

She glared distrustfully at him, and he sighed.

"Dr Foster, I promise you, all we gave him was a sedative. We don't even have hallucinogens on the premises."

She could see no sign of lying. None whatsoever. So, she decided to believe him for now, but with trepidation. She couldn't deny that Cal hadn't been himself when he had left. It would explain the kiss. But then what _was_ making him act like this? Sighing, she looked back at the monitor to see Cal unconscious and sprawled across his bed. She watched him for a few minutes, before finally standing up and glancing at her watch. It was almost midnight. She cast her gaze reluctantly back at Cal. She didn't want to leave him.

"Can't I just go and sit with him?" she asked, knowing full well that that was not going to be allowed. Dr Grandon predictably shook his head, and Gillian let out a breath. She was in for a long sleepless night.

"Come and see him tomorrow, Dr Foster. We'll take care of him."

x x x

Cal tried blinking hard a couple of times, longing for his head to clear, as he was led from his room. Trying to accept the conversation he had had with his mother who had been dead for thirty years was difficult enough as it was. It most certainly didn't help that he had a blinding headache, his eyes kept blurring and his head kept fogging up mid-thought. He felt like one feels after being wrenched from a very deep sleep.

Suddenly he saw Gillian sitting, almost angelically, on the white wicker couch, and felt better. The white around her gave the illusion that she was emerging from heaven. He grinned as he swaggered towards her, and she stood up to meet him. After one glance at him, she turned on Dr Grandon, and said accusingly, "Oh, come on, you gave him something."

"Yeah, a sedative," said Dr Grandon, before saying again, "We don't administer hallucinogens here."

"You see, I would agree with you there," Cal found himself saying, and reached over to touch the beard that looked as though it was fluffing out before his eyes. "But I just went for a trip down memory lane with my mum. Thank you so much for that."

Gillian's hands were on his chest and his shoulder, and they felt very warm, and he didn't care that she had heard about his mum. In fact, she probably knew already since she was clearly the one they had called.

Dr Grandon was eyeing him without emotion as Cal stroked his face, before turning to Gillian and saying, "Call me if you need me, Dr Foster," and pulling away. Cal leered after him as he felt Gillian pull at him. He rested his arm over her shoulder, his hand in her hair and felt her warm gentle hands on his chest, his back, his abdomen, guiding him towards a seat. Such warm hands.

"So, you had to come here," she was saying resignedly, as he tried to regain his balance, still leaning on her. "I thought we were gonna wait, and do it together." She patted his chest, and rested her hand on his stomach. The sensations felt tingly, almost ticklish, but so very warm.

"Oh yeah?"

He was looking at her now. Her beauty seemed enhanced, if that was possible, and he gazed at her as she mumbled, "Hm," and eased him down into the chair facing her seat

He spoke honestly, unable to tear his eyes from her. "Look, tell the truth, all right?" He leaned towards her. "You know that was never gonna happen."

She was so beautiful. She almost seemed to glow. He reached over to run his fingers over her cheek to make sure she was real, unlike his mother. Unphased, she glanced over his shoulder, and whispered, "You attacked that orderly."

He was gently caressing her cheek as she spoke, moving his hand to slide around into her hair so he could grasp her face gently. So beautiful. So surreal.

"Do you wanna tell me what on earth was going through your mind at the time?"

Her eyes were on his again, and he thought they were so clear. So breathtaking. How was it that she could be real? Was it even possible for something so beautiful to be real? He decided he wanted to kiss her again.

"The bridge of his nose," he sneered as he began to lean in.

She didn't even give him a chance to get close this time, as she gently pushed his hand off her face and clasped it in hers instead, saying, "Okay, this isn't you that I'm talking to, this is the drugs." She patted his arm, and added, glancing around, "I've gotta figure out a way to get you out."

x x x

Of course Cal's little escapade into Dr Grandon's office had gone badly. It had been inevitable. What was shocking was Emily's voice calling through the speaker in a panic. As they had dragged Cal from the room, Gillian had snatched up the phone, and told Emily firmly that she would be right there. She went with Cal as far as his room, and then, with a squeeze of his arm, she whispered, "It's okay, I'll take care of her," and left for the Group. She didn't miss the concern and gratitude in his eyes.

Emily was waiting for her in the lobby when she arrived back, and it became clear that she had found out most of the story already - probably from Loker or Torres. Gillian did her best to reassure Emily that everything would be okay, that she was doing everything she could to look after him. But even as she spoke, she thought of his hallucinations. Despite what she had let Emily believe, she knew he hadn't done this on purpose.

When Emily called her on her fear, she had been distracted by the sudden striking resemblance to her father, before the little bashful smile returned. Then, choosing her words carefully, she said, "Your dad ... Seems like he's under a lot of stress. I mean, there's more on his mind ... Than usual." Even as she spoke, she felt the worry she had been trying to suppress for Emily's sake well up in her throat.

Emily, however, merely said, "Yeah, especially now," as though it was obvious.

"Why would you say that?" Gillian asked, watching Emily closely.

"Next week, it's his birthday," Emily said, seemingly confused as to why Gillian was confused.

"Yeah, but he always stresses out about that," said Gillian quickly. "I mean, that's why every year we pretend like it's not even happening." They had mentioned nothing about it as per usual, and yet his emotional strain was far more intense than it usually was, even at this time of year.

"Yes, but my grandma died when she was forty six, and he's turning forty seven."

And right there, it all clicked into place. The mood, the strain, the obsession with this case, and most of all the subject of his hallucinations. Gillian let out a sigh, and shook her head distractedly. How on earth had she not put that together? She had been so caught up in their weirdness, their distance, she had forgotten about _him_. About his heart. She felt terrible.

"It's okay, Gill, it's not like he talks about it." Emily's voice came in a gentle tone.

Gillian looked at her and smiled affectionately. Then she sighed, and said, "I should have seen it. It explains ... A lot."

"I guess," said Emily. "I mean, this case is a bit close to home."

Gillian nodded vaguely, feeling distracted. She should have realized when Cal had been telling Amanda that he had always been afraid that he would be like his mother. She knew this fear already, of course, but she had been more interested in and touched by the fact that he was telling Amanda something so personal. She hadn't quite realized that this was what was on his mind now. She felt stupid. This was so unlike her. She was usually hyperaware when it came to his feelings.

"I'm sorry," said Emily, cutting into her thoughts.

"Hm? For what, sweetie?"

"For blaming you just there," said Emily sheepishly. "I know he probably did this on his own, and I know you always look out for him-"

Gillian was shaking her head, and she interrupted by saying firmly, "Absolutely no need to apologize, Em, I get it."

There was a pause, and then Emily sighed. She moved to sit closer to Gillian and lay her head down on her shoulder. Gillian gently put her arm around her.

"You think he'll be okay?" asked Emily quietly.

"Yeah, he'll be okay," murmured Gillian. And she believed it. He was dealing with his pain, albeit in a non-ideal environment. But he was certainly working through something with his hallucinations.

"Where're you staying tonight?" Gillian asked. "At home, or-"

"Yeah, at home," said Emily. "Not like I wanna see any friends at the moment."

"Well, that's fine," said Gillian gently. "I just meant that I think you should stay with me tonight."

"Yeah?" Emily's voice was ever so slightly relieved.

"Yeah, you shouldn't be alone."

She meant this in terms of both safety and emotional wellbeing, and she was relieved when Emily readily nodded in agreement. She hadn't even realized Emily had been staying with Cal the previous night, or she would have gone right over after leaving the mental hospital. She had just assumed he wouldn't have left her alone, but then again, he was very much not himself. The poor girl must have been worried sick.

"Let's go and get some hot chocolate," Gillian suggested suddenly. "I need the comfort."

Emily laughed weakly, and said, "Yeah, let's go."

x x x

Cal was sitting at a table in the dining room the following morning stewing on his encounter with his father, when he saw Loker headed towards him. Feeling his heart sink in some disappointment, he greeted him by demanding, "Where's Foster?"

"She's with Emily," said Loker, sitting down.

"That is because you, bloody idiot that you are, told Em all about this, right," said Cal resentfully. Of course Gillian was with Emily. Emily needed her there. It was just that he needed her as well. He needed to see her face, her smile. He wanted to tell her about his dad. He doubted she knew about that, considering she had been taking care of Emily the previous night. He hadn't realized until now how comforting it was to know she had seen his conversation with his mum.

They had talked briefly over the phone the previous afternoon after Gillian had managed to bully five minutes of phone time out of Dr Grandon, so that she could tell him that Emily was fine, and staying with her that night. When he had asked about the drugs, she had told him that they would come by the following morning as they were still looking them up. He had simply assumed she would be the one to come.

Loker didn't bother responding to Cal's insult, and instead said, "None of the drugs that you had me research would have caused the reaction that you're having."

"Keep checking," said Cal, unconvinced. Loker must have missed something.

"They're sedatives, they're mood stabilizers," said Loker firmly. "They're not hallucinogens."

Cal's eyes flicked to Loker as his insides froze, and then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"What do you know about my hallucinations?" he asked coldly, tensing up.

"Nothing. Just that you've been having them."

Cal stared hard at Loker, but saw truth. And Loker was very bad at hiding things, so he was convinced, and he felt the tension ebb away again.

Loker, meanwhile, asked disdainfully, "You think Foster would tell us?"

Cal continued to stare, feeling a bit stupid, as Loker shook his head in almost paternal disappointment.

His eyes drifted away as he felt a strong wave of gratitude towards Gillian, just for being Gillian. That was why he loved her so much. Then he saw Wayne take out his muffins, and it hit him like a ton of bricks, slicing through the mistiness into his consciousness.

The bloody muffins.

x x x

It had felt so good to be walking out of that bloody hospital, Gillian's hands gripping his arm, and his sanity back. She had, of course, been present for his evaluation, backed up his story, driven him home so he could change, and taken him back to the Group, where she had already organised the summoning of Amanda and Gina, as well as the release of Wayne Dobar.

She had treated him with the kind of loving affection he hadn't allowed from her in months, her relief in having him back almost palpable. And he was relieved, too. The relief became almost overwhelming when, after exposing the sickening situation, Emily had arrived, and run into his arms. Gillian was watching them, beaming in relief, and he looked directly into her eyes, and showed her all the gratitude he felt on his face. She had smiled, touched, and then left the two of them alone.

Gillian. He hadn't had a chance to talk to her yet. He knew he needed to. And not least of all about the kiss that he was trying very hard not to think about. But he also needed to tell her about his hallucination of his father. She was the only one he could have that kind of a conversation with. And he was still feeling shaken, like after a vivid nightmare. It was that sensation, more than anything, that made him want to talk for once. He needed to get it off his chest, clear his head. And he just needed her to _know_ about his dad. But it would have to be later. For now, Emily was his priority.

He had taken the rest of the day off to spend time with his daughter. The two of them had gone by Gillian's to fetch her things, and then had cooked up a delicious meal. It was only after they had finished washing the dishes that she had asked him about what had happened. He went back and forth on what to tell her, but eventually opened up a bit on the conversation between him and his mum. It was Em after all.

"So, do you think it was really her talking to you, or just you talking to yourself?" Emily asked after he had finished, as they lazed on the couch.

"Have you been psychobabbling with Gillian again?" he demanded, smothering a wave of affection for both of them.

Emily rolled her eyes as the kitchen timer went off. "Well, my dad's a lunatic," she retorted, getting to her feet. "Ground me."

So yes, then.

"I bet she said a couple of days in that place was just what I needed, right?" he called after her as she headed to the kitchen.

"Just a couple?" Emily grunted.

"Oi, enough of your lip," retorted Cal. He had wanted to fish a bit to find out what Gillian had said to Emily about his stay there, but it seemed he wouldn't get much from his daughter.

"So, um, did you see anyone else in there?" Emily asked curiously, poking her head through the doorway.

"Well, like who?" Cal asked, on guard.

"Well, that's a no then," concluded Emily, vanishing back into the kitchen.

Cal hesitated, but he couldn't tell her this. Even Gillian didn't know about that particular conversation yet, and he felt he needed to tell her about it before he told Emily. If he ever did. He was pretty sure he never wanted Emily to know the truth about his father. Only Gillian, and quite literally _only_ Gillian, knew about that. She had gentle-encouraging-smiled it out of him during their shrink days.

So, he said, "Yes," and knew it was a lie he had to tell. And then he changed the subject to Loker's reaction to the muffin, while putting The Jam on the record player. Emily brought him a small cake that was smoking slightly, and had a single candle poking out the middle. It wasn't his birthday for a few days, but Emily was going to be away visiting Zoe. Something he usually encouraged, especially on his birthday, when he usually liked to spend the evening drinking in a pub.

He didn't know what had inspired her failed attempt at a cake this year. He was usually very strict about ignoring the occasion. Funnily enough, however, he found he didn't mind as he blew out the candle. In fact, he was almost content.

x x x

Emily went up to bed soon after the cake, leaving him sprawled across his couch. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was just past ten fifteen. He chewed thoughtfully on his lip. Gillian would probably still be awake; she was a night owl like him. But it was late.

He went back and forth in his mind for a minute, before he decided to compromise with a text saying, "You awake? Can I call?"

He didn't even get a text in response. She just called him back straight away.

"Hey," she said when he answered.

"Hi, darling," he replied gently. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"Like what?" she asked, her voice teasingly suggestive.

"Oi, like sleep," he grinned. "No need to tease. You're just gonna mess up my dreams."

"I was just watching TV," she told him, a smile in her voice.

"Yeah? Anything good?"

There was a pause.

"I don't know, I'm not actually paying attention. Hold on."

He waited for a moment, and then she was back, saying, "It's some kind of cheap Survivor slash Amazing Race thing."

He considered this, and then said truthfully, "I dunno what the hell that means."

She laughed, and the sound of it made him snap slightly. Unable to stop the sudden impulse to see her, he blurted out, "Is it too late for you to pop by for a night cap?"

There was no hesitation before she said, "No, I'll be right there."

He smiled, glad that she liked looking out for him. "Fantastic."

He hung up, and then frowned thoughtfully. He reached for his phone again, and called the mental hospital. It took all of his Cal Lightman "persuasiveness", but he eventually got someone to agree to e-mail him the footage of his conversation with his father right away. He needed Gill to see it. He couldn't remember it clearly enough to explain it to her, and frankly, he didn't want to try. He just needed her to know. After some hesitation, he also requested the one of his mother.

As he lay back to wait for her, he allowed two sides of him to battle it out. The side that had been spending the last few months trying to test her feelings for him wanted to use the kiss to push her further. To rile her up. To see what she let slip, because he knew he had missed something in her face in his drugged state, and his curiosity was almost unbearable.

The other side, the one that was vulnerable and needed to come to terms with his hallucinations, begged for him to just let it go. Not to alienate her now. He needed her friendship, their connection. There would be time for the other stuff. Not now.

It was the latter half that came out top by the time he heard her knock on the door, and he sighed as he got up. He knew he was being selfish no matter which path he chose, and reasoned that she needed him to be normal for now. That was what had tipped the scales in the end.

So when he opened the door, instead of demanding a hello kiss, he just smiled in relief, and reached over to hug her tightly. She seemed surprised by this sudden show of affection, but of course she returned the hug with warmth.

"Come in, love," he said with a smile when they broke apart. "Want some tea?"

"Sounds good," she replied cheerfully.

They wandered companionably into the kitchen, and she leaned against the counter as he filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stovetop. She was watching him with that loving look he knew so well, the one that he had kept at bay for so long. It always obscured his readings when he tried to ascertain what she was feeling, so lately he had tried to keep it replaced with annoyance, or something that was easier to differentiate from what he wanted to see.

Right now, though, it was like coming home. So he decided to address the kiss first, as it almost stood in the way of the pure friendship he craved at that moment.

He went to stand in front of her, and smirked.

"Sorry I went and kissed you," he said lightly.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and his heart leapt, but he forced it down. Not now.

"That's okay," she said with a grin. "You were high."

He chuckled.

"Yeah, I was. Inhibitions lowered, and all that."

"It's no problem, Cal, really."

She spoke dismissively, as though she had long since disregarded what had happened. This was jarring enough that he couldn't help at least saying coyly, "Right, good. Because usually I'm better at controlling that impulse." He gave a wink, and she laughed and shook her head. He felt relieved, and quite proud of himself for having managed to clear the air, while simultaneously flirting characteristically. He had regained the equilibrium.

"Great," he said, and turned to the kettle that was starting to whistle softly. He pulled it off and made them each a cup of tea, before leading her over to the kitchen table.

"What's this?" asked Gill, pointing at the charred remains of his birthday cake. He and Emily had polished all the edible bits, and had left the burnt bits in the pan.

"Em made me a cake. Or she tried, at least."

Gillian eyed him with interest, and then said, "And you accepted it? Did you ground her, too?"

He grinned, and said, "Nah. It was a nice thought. Besides, she's going to be away for ... The actual day."

Gillian was watching him, and he saw the almost hopeful expression before she hesitantly asked, "Would you let me treat you to a dinner ... On the actual day?"

He hesitated as well, and then nodded slowly. She beamed, so he added warningly, "That's all though."

"Of course."

He nodded, and smiled. Growth, he thought to himself. Speaking of which ...

"Wait here."

He went to the living room, fetched his laptop, and returned to the kitchen, placing it on the table in front of them.

"Here, I want to show you something," he said.

x x x

**TBC**

**A/N:** Thanks for reading, let me know what you think. Last one will be up soon. :-)


	3. Did She Just Call Me Sexy?

**A/N:** Okay, last part … Hope you like it :-) Thanks so much for your great reviews!

**Disclaimer: **Lie to Me characters, concepts and episodes do not belong to me, nor does any dialogue lifted directly from the episodes (which I concede is a lot).

**Part 3: Did She Just Call Me Sexy?**

In the weeks that followed his birthday, Cal managed to find a middle ground. He had discovered that it was just as much fun pushing her by flirting outrageously, mainly because she seemed to have fun flirting back. Other than that, he more or less kept his distance, because after showing her his conversation with his father, he felt almost more exposed than usual around her. Sure, she was always capable of reading him - or understanding him, rather - but he felt, almost irrationally, as though she would now be able to see everything he was feeling. And he sure as hell couldn't allow her to see how he felt about her. Not until he could ascertain her feelings.

He was becoming almost desperate to get confirmation from her, but this was more difficult than before. Not only had he lost out on Wallowski's power over her, but he simply couldn't quite face fighting with her. Not after everything that had happened. Not after bloody kissing her. So he had lost the capability to anger her, and thus had lost his control facial expression. How in the hell could he get her to slip now? His only arsenal left was progressively obviously inappropriate flirting.

The case of George Parker provided the perfect opportunity to turn it up.

x x x

Gillian was standing next to Cal as he sat at his desk, watching the interview of wife number five. She was amazed at the story that was emerging here, and was lost in thought as to how any man could pull this off, when she became aware that Cal had paused the video and begun to speak.

"All right. So, five wives in two and a half years, and every one of them on the rebound," Cal was saying, before adding typically, and for no apparent reason, "I couldn't even get near you when you were on the rebound."

"Maybe you didn't try hard enough," she pointed out distractedly, and immediately wished she hadn't.

Cal, of course, leapt on that at once, and, staring at her with cheeky fascination, he asked, "You saying I had a chance?"

Annoyed with herself for walking into that one, and with him for deliberately misinterpreting her response to his own provocative statement, she snapped, "You finished? Can we get back to the case now?"

Looking immensely smug, he agreed, and she tried to curb her irritation. Which wasn't actually so bad. In fact, there may even have been some amusement in there. Maybe some flattery.

Luckily Sarah came in at that moment, proving a useful distraction. Cal had fun mocking her accent for a while, and Gillian couldn't help but smile at Sarah's amusement at her boss, and her spunk.

When Cal said, "Maybe it's time I hired Mr Dobson," with fire in his eyes as he stared at her, she had no doubt where this was going. And she sighed.

"Cal, I don't know-"

"Oh, come on, you're the perfect bait." He ran his eyes deliberately down her body, and back up again before smirking. "He's not gonna say no to you."

Sarah was smiling widely at this, and it occurred to Gillian as she scowled at him that if he did this to anyone else who was working with him, he would probably be sued for sexual harassment. She bit her lip uncomfortably. She was just feeling a bit on edge about her feelings towards him lately, and she felt that this wouldn't exactly help.

Since his stay in the mental institution, the kiss and the subsequent reversion to their old warmth, her emotions had been a bit muddled. She truly couldn't help it, but that kiss weighed on her mind. That, and his clear implication that he had wanted to kiss her, and all the drugs had done was prevent him from stopping himself. His level of flirting had intensified as well. And while for the most part she took it as she always had, every now and then he looked at her with that same look in his eye as when he had kissed her.

She began to wonder, in an almost paranoid manner, whether he knew the effect he was having on her, and was doing this on purpose. Especially with this suggestion, it seemed so. She watched him uncomfortably.

"Give us a minute," Cal said to Sarah, who promptly turned and left, clearly suppressing laughter.

"What's the problem, then?" he asked, peering at her.

"Um ..." Deciding not to answer, she asked, "What would this entail exactly?"

"Excellent, that took less convincing than I thought," he said brightly.

Well, who had she been kidding, anyway?

x x x

Meeting George was almost a pleasure. In a clinical way, she was fascinated watching him work his charms on her. He was creepy as well, though, and flirting back seemed at first to be beyond her.

Until it occurred to her that it would probably piss Cal off to watch it. Because he sure as hell would be watching. And this changed everything into something very funny and entertaining. She was about to get an almost playful revenge on him for his blatant flirting, for making her do this. She could wind him up without him being able to turn the tables on her.

"And there I was thinking you might be the sore loser type," she said, warmly, as George poured some wine into her glass that night at dinner.

"Try this, let me know what you think," he said, all charm and warmth. "And I'm much better-"

"At serving wine than tennis balls?" she teased. This was almost easy.

"Actually, I was gonna say I'm much better when I'm with someone like you."

God, that had almost set her off. It was such a _line_, and it didn't help that she knew how false all of this was. However, she managed to cover her cynical smirk by turning it into a self-satisfied, flattered smile. Cal would have seen right through it.

"Oh. Like me," she purred. She felt like rolling her eyes at herself, and then gave him an opening by asking suggestively, "What am I like?"

"The opposite of my ex," he told her, as though this was the highest compliment he could have paid her. She almost applauded him for not taking the opportunity to be more cheesy. "She would have found fault with the wine. No matter which one I picked."

Oh, he was giving _her_ the opening now. Obediently, she took it.

"Please, don't I know it," she said in great exasperation. "I was married to exactly the same type. Cal always had to be the smartest person in the room." She remembered he was watching, and turned her purse a bit to aim the camera. Then reminded herself firmly to stick to the truth, and try to embellish rather than fabricate. It would help her authenticity, plus, as an added bonus, it would drive Cal up the wall.

"Every conversation was a duel. I mean talk about exhausting."

In the lab, Cal was trying to ignore Torres and Loker smirking almost _aloud_ if that was possible. He was distracted enough watching this gorgeous woman of his (and she was bloody well _his_ as far as he was concerned) flirt with such a slimeball.

"With Megan, everything was the bottom line. The price of everything, the value of nothing, you know?"

They had decided to paint Gillian as enjoying luxury, more luxury than her husband could afford. And despising him for it. That was the reason they had split up. George was playing this very nicely. Bastard.

"Yeah, I don't mind frugal, but I hate cheap," Gillian was saying with a perfect display of disdain. "Cal would never buy wine like this."

"That bit's true," he grunted, unable to help thinking that it was a good thing Gillian didn't really give a damn about that sort of thing.

"Guy didn't know what he had," George's voice said, and Cal was faintly distracted by that comment. He listened hard for Gillian's response, and felt his heart sink slightly with it, although with a strange additional affection at her obvious enjoyment.

"And he was always looking at every other woman that walked by. Sexual ADD."

She was definitely mocking him on purpose. Definitely. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Torres smirk, and turn to Loker. Annoyed that they were privy to this, he snapped, "Yes, Torres?"

"Nothing," she said with unconvincing nonchalance. He was going to get Foster for this.

"His loss," George was saying with an excellent portrayal of sincerity. Cal was gazing hard at the screen, listening to every word in spite of himself. "Guys like that? They're their own worst enemies."

Who was this guy? He knew how to speak truths. Cal found it very disturbing that this crazy psychopath could seem to point out something he had barely allowed himself to think. For God's sake, Gillian was _actually_ discussing him with this guy. And this guy was talking back. He meant what he was bloody saying. That was his secret, Cal realized. He said what he meant. He was sincere, despite being a fake. It was incredible.

And here he was being sincere about Cal's faults. He honestly didn't think Cal deserved Gillian. He was beginning to feel miserable, because if Gillian believed him, he, Cal, wouldn't stand a chance. He gazed at the screen waiting, just waiting for Gillian to agree.

Gillian, meanwhile, was vaguely distracted by the conversation, because although much of what she said was truth, she felt that George's responses were too much. Too real. How on earth did he manage to peg Cal? She hadn't forgotten that Cal was watching, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. She wanted to tease. Despite the truths this conversation was brushing on. Almost instinctively, she edged towards defending him, but George's words had struck a chord.

"You know, it's a pity, though," she murmured gloomily, "because underneath all that stuff is an amazing, funny, interesting mind."

Back in the lab, Cal felt his spirits lift.

"Did she just call me sexy?" he said at once.

"No, she didn't," said Loker flatly, as though he had expected the question. "She's playing a role."

"She did, she just called me sexy." Cal was feeling rather pleased with himself all of a sudden.

Behind him, Torres was smirking, and Loker was shaking his head in annoyance.

"So what about you?" Gillian was asking.

"It was a bad match. She was a Harvard graduate, I was a college dropout who ran a doggy day care. You know, her border collie fell in love with my malamute."

Gillian laughed, went silent, and then said without enthusiasm, "Cal always hated big dogs." She then injected just the right amount of sneering disgust into her voice as she added, "When we met he had this little pug called _Isobel_."

That cut a bit too close to home for Torres and Loker to hear. How bloody specific. He could almost see the twinkle in her eye as she went after his beloved Isobel. She had always loved teasing him about her.

"Oh, big red flag."

Asshole.

"Oh, now she's having way too much fun," he snapped, getting to his feet. But really, he appreciated her fun. He wished he was there with her, so that they could share the personal joke, his employees and _George_ far far away.

"This is delicious wine," she said, warmth and admiration now colouring her voice.

"There's plenty more where that came from," he bragged, but with humility. "Cheers."

Cal hated him.

"Cheers."

x x x

"That was a nice thing you did for Noah."

Cal looked up to see Gillian at his door. They hadn't had a moment alone since she had acted as bait to George. He stared accusingly at her, and she frowned slightly.

"Why are you looking at me like I just shot your dog?" she asked.

"I don't have a dog," he snapped unnecessarily, and he saw her comprehension, followed by exasperation. "I don't even like dogs, according to you. Apart from a pug named Isobel."

He turned to the framed picture of Isobel behind him, and then stared expectantly at Gillian.

Instead of commenting, she continued with her own conversation by saying, "It did Noah good to know that George cared, even if it isn't true."

"How do you know it's not true?" asked Cal, distracted.

"Is it true? I've never heard that theory."

"Well ... science, right," he began, and she rolled her eyes at him, "like many other things in life, is open to interpretation."

"Oh, please, not that again."

She was looking at him in irritation, but all of a sudden, and for less than a second, her face softened and a gentle smile flickered over her face.

Cal's heart leapt, because he knew that look, and he said huskily, "Oh, thank you."

"I didn't say anything," she said, her face completely reverted back to annoyance. The contrast. It was finally there.

"Really?" he said, and eyed her for a moment, before saying with a slight smirk, "You just called me sexy."

And she looked at him for a moment as though she thought he might just drive her crazy, but then she gave him the look again along with the tiniest coy smile, which he more or less interpreted as, "Well, you are, but don't let it get to your head." She then turned away, but Cal croaked out, "Gill?"

Because that was as close to confirmation as he could hope to get. This case had been full of hints, but that look right there ... That was it. He knew he would never get more, no matter how hard he tried.

She turned back to face him, and he leapt to his feet and shot over to stand right in front of her. She was watching him with curiosity, but not surprise. Not yet, at least. For a moment his heart merely hammered furiously in his chest as he stared hard into her eyes, but this was it. Now. Before he missed his chance. And without further ado, without ceremony, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn't long or deep. It was chaste, almost like a teenage boy rushing in to his very first kiss. But it was enough to send a jolt through his body. He didn't pull back, though. He hovered with his lips just millimeters from hers, his eyes still shut, his hands softly resting on her wrists that were hanging loosely at her sides. He breathed in her scent, felt her warmth, and savoured the moment.

She wasn't moving away. That thought began to form in his mind. She was hovering there as well. And he could feel her arms trembling in his hands. For a moment, he allowed his eyes to flicker open. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be in a state of shock, taking deep slow breaths through her nose. She was frozen in place.

He leaned in again, pressed his lips against hers again, softly, warmly, and allowed his eyes to drift closed as he tried to put all his love, his longing, his dedication into that gentle kiss. He wasn't demanding. He was giving. And she allowed him to give. Her lips moved softly with his, but didn't actually return the kiss. After a few seconds, he pulled back properly this time, and stared at her, waiting for her to open her eyes, to look at him.

When she did, he saw confusion. She was staring searchingly into his eyes, and looking utterly bemused. And afraid. He knew she had sensed his meaning, and his heart sank as he realized she wasn't overjoyed by the situation.

Eventually, she uttered, "W-what ... I - I ..." She swallowed nervously, and then took to gazing at him in wonder. Guarded wonder. He let out a small sigh, and then stepped back. He gave a tiny shrug, and watched her. His mood had gone from light to cold in just a few moments, and now he hovered uncertainly, waiting for something from her. Anything that could let him know what to feel.

Finally she managed to say in a shaky voice, "Do ... Do you mean that?"

He hated that he had to reply. That he was about to throw away any pretense that he could do without her. Gillian, of course, was the one person he could trust with his most vulnerable feelings. She would never ever use them against him. But this exposed a huge weakness and it went against all his instincts. This gave her the power to break him, even if she didn't want to. He hated that he had just opened that door.

"Yeah," he said shortly, examining her shoulder.

She swallowed, shifted, and then reached over to lay a hand on his chest. It was a consoling gesture, and it felt like a knife to his stomach. He pulled away at once, before she had a chance to say anything, and found himself saying nastily, "No need to feel sorry for me. I can find someone else to screw."

He looked challengingly at her as she gaped at him, first in shock, then disbelief. This was slowly replaced by hurt and anger - mostly anger - and after a moment, she turned on her heel without a word, and stalked out.

He swore at himself as the door slammed shut behind her, grabbed the nearest item he could reach (a coffee cup on the end table) and threw it against the wall. It smashed very satisfyingly, but that simply fueled his violent pain. He kicked over his desk chair, scattered some papers across his library and broke a vase before he collapsed into an armchair and tried very hard not to feel.

"What's wrong with you?" enquired a voice after some time, and he looked up to find Wallowski staring at him.

"Nothing," he snapped. "Bugger off."

"Wow, you're charming today," she said sarcastically. He ignored her, and glared at his shoes. "Whatever," she continued with a disinterested shrug. "Just brought you the police report on George's arrest. I'll put it on your desk."

She turned from the door, and a rebellious impulse shot over him like he was being hosed with it. He sprang to his feet, followed her to where she was turning away from his desk, grabbed her and kissed her fiercely.

For a moment she kissed back almost automatically, then she shoved him away.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, sounding more annoyed than anything.

"What do you think?" he sneered.

She stared at him, frowned, and asked fiercely, "Seriously, what's the matter with you?"

Feeling hugely explosive, he growled in frustration, and said irritably, "What, it's not like we've never flirted with the idea. You honestly didn't see this coming?"

She clearly didn't fall for that mind game, because she said without a moment's hesitation, "No, I didn't, because neither of us meant anything."

"How do you know?" he challenged.

"Because I'm not a moron, Lightman," she retorted, exasperated. "I don't know what's gotten you so pissed off, but don't be a dick about it. Deal with it, for once in your stupid life."

"Oi!"

That had struck a chord, and the barely bottled anger and emotion spilled out as he shouted, "You have no bloody idea what you're talking about, all right? What, man makes a move on a woman he's interested in and he gets treated like he's the sodding victim? Or like he has no idea what he's doing? I deal with my problems just fine, thank you very much, and I'll deal with this without your help."

She looked very taken aback by his outburst at first, but after a pause she sighed and shook her head. "You're not talking about me at all, are you?" she muttered, and then walked to the door.

Cal couldn't find anything to say to that, so he merely stood with blood rushing through his head and roaring in his ears, glaring after her. At the door, she turned back to him and said, "Just so you know, she was pretty pleased when I told her we aren't sleeping together."

By the time this thought had penetrated, she had left. Cal hovered in his high adrenaline state for a few precarious moments, and then plummeted into horror as he realized exactly what an ass he had been to Gill. He had been hurt before he had given her a chance to react. He had been angry in anticipation, and hadn't allowed her a moment to digest.

He shot to her office, but she wasn't there. He stormed the halls demanding where she was, and was eventually informed by Anna that she had left about twenty minutes ago. Feeling utterly deflated at that news, he stood frozen for a while. This was one hell of a screw up.

He turned back to his office.

He needed a drink.

x x x

Gillian was fighting tears of fury. She didn't like that. She wasn't usually one to cry from anger, but she had to allow for it this time, or she would have to acknowledge the hurt. And she refused to allow herself to feel hurt. She drove home in a furious daze, and then stormed around the house slamming doors and muttering to herself.

She could barely believe the injustice of what had happened. She had merely been leaving his office, and had done nothing else. _He_ had kissed her, had said he meant it, and then he had punished _her_ for it. She felt blind-sided and furious. And that something else she wasn't going to allow.

Somewhere inside her, there was also a small rational voice reminding her of what Cal was probably feeling, but she ignored it, and instead indulged in her anger for a while. Whatever his reasoning was, and however understandable his feelings were, he had been an ass, and she was going to be angry. Because it was better than that other thing.

It was only once she had changed into some sweat pants and a t-shirt, and settled on the couch with a cup of sweet milky tea that she remembered the point of all this. What she should really be thinking about was how she felt about him. But how could she, when she was so angry? When he had clearly left her with the implication that he had wanted a screw and nothing else? The anger (and the something else) flooded over her again, and this time she allowed a few tears.

He was so infuriating.

It was at that point that she got a text from him. It read simply, "I'm sorry."

She stared at the text, sighed and then hid under her blanket on the couch. Such a frank apology from Cal was rare enough that she knew he felt horrible. Well, he should, she thought childishly. She lay there, and let the anger drift to the periphery of her thoughts so that she could think properly for a moment.

When he had kissed her this time, it had been very different to the last one. It had been full of hesitation and meaning. That had frightened her ... Most likely because it had been so unexpected. But also because of all it could mean for them. If he was really going there … She hated that she was questioning this. But she had to. She had to think it through first. She wasn't about to risk something so huge without being clear with herself, no matter what she felt for him.

Of course, she knew he had lashed out because he had sensed her hesitation. But for God's sake, he hadn't given her a chance to react. She assumed that that meant the idiot had been expecting rejection. This thought brought an odd wave of clarity over her.

She lay still under the blanket, and suddenly felt very tired. She closed her eyes and sighed.

The next she was aware, it was dark and she could hear rain pattering outside. She sat up groggily, and peered around her dark living room until she spotted the digital clock on the stereo, and saw that it was almost eleven. She was amazed; she had gotten home almost five hours ago.

It took a few moments of blinking in confusion before she remembered why she had curled up on the couch in the first place, and the emotions washed over her again.

Mainly the anger.

x x x

Cal was wandering through the house turning off the lights, and readying himself for bed. He had eventually come home after receiving no response from Gillian. Ordinarily he would have driven straight over to her place to force her to talk to him, not allow her space or time to think in case she reasoned against him, and simply wrench her feelings out of her by any means possible. But Emily was coming home from Chicago, and he had to be home for her. He figured he could harass Gillian tomorrow.

He had gotten home and moped around the house for about half an hour before Emily had finally stepped through the door. He'd felt better for a bit, what with her company and Rudi-with-an-I, but the thrill wore off. Especially when she excused herself for bed at ten, claiming not to have slept much in Chicago.

He had then spent an hour stewing in his sofa, trying very hard simultaneously not to think about Gillian, and to come up with a constructive plan to deal with what had happened. Of course, that just left him thinking about her and feeling helpless. Eventually he had given up and decided to go to bed. Which found him in the kitchen in his pajamas filling a glass with water.

There was knocking on the kitchen door, and he frowned at it in confusion before glancing at his watch. It was almost half past eleven. There was a second more insistent knock, so he put the glass of water down and went to open it.

Gillian was standing there, her hair wet and dripping from the rain, staring at him. His heart back flipped a couple of times in shock, but before he had the chance to say anything other than, "Gi-", she had stepped inside and whacked him on the back of his head.

"Oi!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"You are such an _ass_," she snapped, hitting the side of his head on the last word.

"Jeez! What's the matter with you?"

That earned him two more whacks on his forehead.

"What's the _matter_ with _me_?" she demanded.

Yeah, she was definitely pissed, he thought as she glowered furiously at him.

"Look, there's no need to-"

Another hit on the back of his head.

"What the-"

Yet another one on his left temple that turned out to be a double.

"Knock it off!" he snapped, dodging out of her way and backing up, holding his hands out in defensive surrender. He was feeling decidedly more annoyed with her than when he had opened the door, and he was now matching her scowl as he stared at her. "That hurt," he said, rubbing his head.

"_That_ hurt?" she asked incredulously. "After everything you've put me through, I'm supposed to feel bad about a couple of taps to your head?"

He felt even more bad-tempered at that, because she had hit surprisingly hard in a variety of areas, so that his whole head was throbbing painfully.

"I'd hardly call them taps," he retorted. "I've got a bloody headache now."

"No worse than the one you constantly give me."

They stared challengingly at each other for a few seconds.

"Did you come here for any reason other than to physically abuse me?" he asked irritably. She most certainly was not in an amicable mood.

"Should I have?" she sneered.

"I did apologize," he pointed out petulantly.

"Oh sure, one text with the words "I'm sorry" completely erases everything!"

He was watching her face now, and then said with a smirk, "Correct me if I'm wrong, right, but you appreciated that message, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," she said in exasperation, and with no trace of hesitation. "At least I know you care. But that was a shit thing to do to me, Cal!"

It was Cal's turn to be exasperated.

"Of course I bloody care," he said. "Isn't that the point of all this?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I'd like to revert that statement back to you," he shot back. "I'm very much on topic here."

There was a long silence as they stared at each other. Outside, the rain began to pour down, splattering against the window, the sidewalk and the roof. Gillian was suddenly looking almost vulnerable as she was forced to think about his point, a look that was emphasized by her dripping hair and damp clothing.

Unable to stop himself, he strode forward and grabbed her, pulling her firmly against him. To his infinite relief, she hugged him back tightly, pressing her face into his neck.

Suddenly she pulled away, and whacked him yet again on the back of the head.

"Ow! Stop it!"

"You're such an idiot," she told him, but he saw the suppressed smile.

Feeling disgruntled, he grunted, "I was going to bed."

"You telling me to leave?" she enquired, her eyebrows raised.

"Stay if you like," he shrugged, picking up his glass of water and heading up the stairs. He was feeling as though it was her turn to tell him what _she_ was feeling, so he sure as hell wasn't going to beg. He had made it clear to her how he felt. Besides, he instinctively knew she wasn't going to leave like this, and he was right. She followed him into his bedroom, and after he had flopped down onto his bed on his back, he found her standing a little way from the foot of the bed, staring at him. She was shivering slightly.

"You must be freezing, love," he told her, before grinning and saying cheekily, "Want me to get you out of those wet clothes?"

He watched the reluctant amusement light up her eyes, as she shook her head at him in exasperation.

"Right, like I'm going to make it that easy for you," she teased.

"Do you ever?" he pointed out. He then climbed off the bed again, and rooted through his dresser before coming out holding a soft oversized t-shirt of his. "Here," he said, tossing it at her. "You can use the bathroom."

"Thanks," she said, and turned on her heel to leave the room. He climbed back into bed, locking his hands behind his head and stared at the now empty doorway.

He wondered what was happening. She was angry, that was clear (his head was still aching). But she was here, changing into his t-shirt so that she could stay. Was this forgiveness? He felt hesitant to believe that just in case he was wrong, but Gillian's love for him was so very unconditional that forgiveness would be entirely natural, whether he deserved it or not. And hadn't he seen the smile in her eyes?

More to the point, was this accepting his feelings? She had seemed unsure downstairs, but he had caught her off guard there. He lay there and puzzled over that until he was distracted by the long legs wearing his loose t-shirt as they walked back into his room.

Gillian barely looked at him as she headed straight for the other side of the bed and climbed in. He, on the other hand, stared openly at her. She really was breathtakingly beautiful, and if she was about to turn him down, then she was undoubtedly the cruelest woman on earth. And cruel wasn't a word he had ever associated with Gillian Foster.

So he turned on his side, propping himself up with his elbow and resting his head on his hand. She was lying there facing him, her eyes bright.

"Can we redo what happened earlier?" he asked her.

There was a pause as she seemed to consider this.

Then she said, "All right."

He felt a wave of relief wash over him. He shuffled closer, and shifted his balance so that he could take her face into his hands before he leaned down and kissed her with all the feeling he could muster. This time she responded, albeit reservedly, as she kissed him back gently, lovingly, her hands reaching up to slide into his hair.

He pulled back, and she asked softly, "Do you mean that?"

He smiled slightly, and this time looked directly at her as he said firmly, "Yeah, I do."

She nodded as she watched him, and then murmured, "Good."

"Do you?" he asked her, staring hard at her face. He saw nerves again, but she seemed almost ... almost happy.

"Of course," she told him, and grinned.

He suddenly felt very weak, and collapsed onto his back beside her as he let out a heavy breath, the relief almost overwhelming.

"Thank God," he mumbled to himself.

x x x

Gillian watched him as he lay there, his eyes closed and looking immensely relieved. She wished she felt that. In truth, what she really felt was something akin to that feeling right before you jump out of a plane to skydive. Or at least she imagined it was similar, having never gone skydiving herself. The knowledge that it would be thrilling, memorable … but so very terrifying. The hesitation. Was this really what she wanted? She thought about all the ways he drove her up the wall, and wondered if this would better that, or worsen it.

Of course she had meant what she had said. She certainly _felt_ it. The attraction. The longing. It had become clear to her at home when she had considered Cal assuming she would turn him down, and how ridiculous that thought had seemed to her.

She supposed that if she had been about to jump out of a plane, she would probably try and confirm that it was safe first. Applying that principle to Cal seemed like a good plan. After all, she knew that he always looked out for her and that he loved her, so she needed to confirm that that wouldn't change.

So she said, "Cal, is this going to make things worse or better?"

He looked at her, and seemed to consider the question. Finally he asked quietly, "You mean, will I keep trying to aggravate you?"

She nodded slowly, surprised that he wasn't pretending he had done nothing of the sort.

He seemed to think about it.

Finally he said carefully, "No, because I was doing that because I wanted this."

She frowned at him. That made no sense. It was like the kid pushing the girl he liked into the mud. Did men ever grow up?

Apparently he saw her lack of comprehension, because he heaved a huge sigh, and turned again to face her. When he spoke, it was resigned.

"The more I pushed, all right, the more likely I was to see how you might feel about me. But today … I knew no matter how much more I tried to rattle you, I wouldn't get any more than that look you gave me, right. It's like I reached the threshold between nothing and something, you know, and I'd been waiting so long that I couldn't hold myself back."

Good Lord, she thought to herself. How had they come to this? When had he forgotten what she was to him? She rolled her eyes before saying in exasperation, "I'm not one of your witnesses, Cal."

"No, you're far more difficult to read, aren't you, love?"

Suddenly she laughed through her exasperation, and said with affection, "You read people so much that you've forgotten about verbal communication. You could have just told me."

"Well, I was scared, wasn't I?"

He spoke with a trace of irritation, and it amused her.

"So am I," she pointed out. "But you could have trusted me not to hurt you. I'm your best friend, remember?"

He relented at that, and after a pause said, albeit sullenly,"Fine. I'm in love with you. Are you in love with me?"

Even though that was exactly what she had wanted him to say, she found herself stumped. She knew she should say yes, she wanted to say yes … but the word stuck in her throat. For a moment she felt surprised at herself, but her shrink side reminded her of the power of the constant repression of emotions. She decided to be truthful. Lying to him now wouldn't help.

She said slowly and deliberately, gazing earnestly into his eyes, "I will be ... Once this has sunk in."

She saw him frown, saw him draw ever so slightly away, and she spoke again quickly, trying to explain, and stumbling slightly over her words.

"I haven't thought about it like that, Cal ... On purpose, I mean. You just have to trust me when I say I will be, and give me the time to let myself feel it. Like you've forgotten how to speak about things? I've forgotten how to let myself feel ... that way ... for you."

He was still looking at her doubtfully, and then he said in a croaky whisper, "Look, if you don't think you-"

She cut him off, saying, "You _know_ how much I love you, Cal. Trust me, remember?"

"Right," he said, shaking his head slightly as though to remind himself. Then, to her relief, he chuckled and said, "You women are so bloody complicated. Why can't you just feel something or not?"

"Must be the hormones," she said with a grin, before adding sincerely, "I _do_ love you, Cal."

"Yeah, I know you do."

And the way he smiled at her just then made her think that maybe this was going to work. Easy or not, the way they loved each other _now_ would keep them safe. So she moved closer, and kissed him tenderly.

"Don't ever test me again."

"Don't let me."

And right there, the deal was made. Right there, she was safe. She gave a nod.

"So, am I getting lucky tonight?" he asked her, his eyes twinkling and open, and she collapsed into giggles.

It was nice having him back.

x x x

As it had turned out, the answer was "No," but Cal didn't care. Sex with Gillian would happen, and very soon, he knew. But at this point it seemed they both first needed mentally to come to terms with the change in their relationship. He figured he was feeling too jumpy to be any good anyway. What they had done was stay up inordinately late, chattering and laughing the way they once had. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he must have because it was suddenly light, and she was lying fast asleep beside him, her mouth open and her hair fuzzed around her face.

He poked her nose until she opened her eyes, and asked, "Change your mind yet?"

There was a pause as she looked sleepily at him, and then she said, "No."

"In love with me yet?"

This time her eyes twinkled with laughter, and she said, "Almost."

"Hurry up, will you?"

"Okay."

It only took two days.

He was dozing in his library at work instead of writing his book, and she walked in and snapped, "Cal!"

He jerked, and said quickly, "I was just taking a break."

She raised her eyebrows at him, and said, "I don't believe that for a second."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Yes."

And then she was on his lap, smiling into his eyes, and she kissed him. Then she murmured, "But for some reason, I'm in love with you anyway."

And Cal felt that feeling that a man only felt when the woman he loved said she loved him back.

"Well, in that case, I'll make sure _you_ get lucky tonight," he told her brightly.

"Something to look forward to."

He absolutely loved that she meant it.

**FIN**

**A/N:** Right, so a lot more original dialogue in there. I must say that the transition itself from friendship to romance is something I always find difficult to write believably, but I hope you think I managed, and that you liked it … Let me know what you thought of the story as a whole. Thank you for reading! :-)


End file.
